


Dream Is In Prison LOLZ

by YaBoiAXE



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Prison, am i doing this right, no beta we die like men, there might be more characters idk yet lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28915458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaBoiAXE/pseuds/YaBoiAXE
Summary: Dream's in prison! Crabrave!A series of visits to Dream's prison cell.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	Dream Is In Prison LOLZ

**Author's Note:**

> I have never put anything here on ao3 so if I got any tags wrong please tell me and also the title of this may be silly but the fic itself is pretty serious and I'm kind of super proud of it.
> 
> Word count for part one: 980

_ A child makes his way through a field of tall grass, the petals of the flowers surrounding him clinging to his bright green hoodie. A mess of colors, a bouncing flash of rainbow, bowling right towards a sheep hybrid, whose arms are open wide in greeting. The living ball of childish energy nearly knocks his mother over, and she’s lifting him off his feet in spinning him around in a forest of flowers. _

_ A pre-teen waves goodbye to his mother as he slips on his mask and opens the door. Said mask is cracked and scratched and fixed time and time again. Remnants of colorful stickers from childhood adorn the surface. Before he can exit, the sheep approaches him and presses a smooth item into his hands, a new mask. One that hasn’t been battered and broken by those who want nothing more than to plague the shy kid. One that shows a mother’s love and an adventurer’s craftsmanship. _

_ A teenage boy stumbles through the door, his clothes may be bloodied but upon taking off his mask, his expression is triumphant. He must be back from one of his duels. Every time he’s come home, less and less of the blood has been his own. Well, apart from his returns from fights with a certain pig hybrid. He tells his mother he’s finally getting stronger, that he can protect her just as she always protected him. He could protect everyone. His mother says she’s grateful, that she’s glad she gets to see her little duckling grow up so caring, so selfless. What she doesn’t voice is her worries about how far her duckling may go to achieve his goals. _

A man stands studying a clock on the wall, his foot tapping the floor in time with the ticking. The sound of his heel clicking against the hard obsidian reverberates throughout the cell until it is absorbed into the lava blocking any chance of an easy escape. He doesn’t seem scared, though. He hums quietly to himself, the familiar notes of “Hey There Delilah”. He was allowed to keep his cloak, his hoodie, and even his mask, which is tilted up just enough to show a soft smile.

Puffy, on the other hand, is confident her fur got at least slightly singed during the journey to the cell. Even now, the heat pushes at her back, almost as if it’s urging her to go forward. She wants to move forward.

She stays rooted at the spot.

“Dream.”

Dream turns to her, the hum falling from his throat but his smile staying in place. He approaches her, and she unconsciously lifts her foot to take a step back before the heat throws her back to her senses.

“You may not want to go swimming there, Puffy,” he says, his voice flat and dragging at some syllables. It’s not the light, delightfully unpredictable sound she remembers. It’s low, and controlled.

Puffy straightens herself and dares herself to look into the black dots of her son’s mask. The mask is scuffed, a bit old. He obviously hadn’t replaced it in years, and Puffy knows that. Her eyes drop to the broach holding his cloak to his shoulders. It’s a gift she had given him after his first win against Techno, its glassy surface having a painted smile like the one on the Dreams mask. 

Her eyes are caught by a thin silver chain peeking out from under the cloak, half stuck in his shirt collar as if it had been stuffed in prior. It’s not the fanciest, but it has a small charm resembling a cookie hanging from it. 

Unconsciously, Puffy’s hand comes up to touch the bump of the matching chain under her shirt. 

“Dream,” she repeats, “why did you…”

“Why did I what?”

Puffy chuckles bitterly. “Where do I even start, Dream?”

Dream steps away to the back of the cell and sits down cross legged, his chin propped on his hands. “You don’t even need to start, Puffy, I have one answer for it all.”

“Control?”

He simply nods, his mask falling over his mouth and hiding any expression he could have.

Puffy, against her better judgement, takes a step forward. 

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, but it is.”

Step.

“What happened to you? What happened to my little duckling?”

No reply this time. 

Step.

“What happened to  _ protecting _ ? What happened to you to make you do this to your  _ family _ ?”

At this, Dream turns himself around so that he’s facing the wall. Puffy could have sworn she heard him ghost her final word as he shifted. 

“What was that?” she says, her voice almost a hiss. She’s now just a few feet behind Dream, staring down on his still body. She wonders if he feels as small as he looks. How does a man learn to just shut himself off like that? To just ignore those he’s hurt? To keep himself rigid in every sense of the word?

Puffy’s hands ball into fists as her body begins to tremble. Resisting the urge to yell, to tell her son off, to say he’s grounded or  _ something _ that could give her some use as a mother, she instead calls for Sam to bring her back. 

As the bridge drifts away from the main cell, Puffy chances a look over her shoulder. Dream is still facing the wall, his body completely still. Puffy turns back around and tells Sam on her way out that she will be having no future visits.

It takes a lot of effort for one to cry without some sort of shivering, or muffled gasps, especially when one knows they have done everything to deserve it. Especially when they feel so small.

Luckily for the lone figure in the dark cell, he hadn’t moved a single inch, had made not a sound, as the tears flowed from under his mask.


End file.
